


Long Time Coming

by IantoPace



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-04 12:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13365153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IantoPace/pseuds/IantoPace
Summary: Soulmate AU: Soulmate's first phrase or sentence they say to the other (when the other in conscious) become written somewhere on the latter's body once the phrase/sentence is said.Rick kept tabs on his daughter, of course, decades before he ended up knocking on her door and, at some point, asking to move in.He also kept tabs on his grandson, of course, years before he ended up feeling that twinge he'd only heard about when new letters sink into skin, all while the doe-eyed kid waited for his answer.





	1. He Can't Even Talk

**Author's Note:**

> A scene in chapter one has inspiration from the following great drawing by justmorty:  
> https://askrick.tumblr.com/post/168913025832/when-did-rick-take-you-on-your-first-adventure-and

He’d agreed on checks every eight months… or somewhere around there, whatever, not much changed. At least she didn’t seem like one of those whom highschool made dumber. She smiled with her friends, seemed like she wasn’t getting into that much trouble, though Rick had indefinite standards. She’d definitely get into college, maybe get to do some of that human-aid stuff she seemed into at one point in childhood.

 

Then Rick showed up one time around whenever her graduation must’ve been, yards away from the school entrance where he tracked her to be, and found he was lucky to have made the portal gun handle stronger than the prototypes’.

 

Some ugly-haired, wussy, bitch-faced looking shitstain with  _no hint_  of intelligence in his eyes was kissing her with one  _disgusting_  hand on her significantly  _rounder_  stomach. Rick’s fingers twitched towards his gun, but he instead watched enough to see her walk into the building, smiling back at that twat, and quickly portalled to his provincial housing.

 

Anything that turd’s ever said better  _not_  be on her. Rick already wanted to cut out his tongue based on his clothes and weird face.

 

He decided to go with the better option this time: Stay away until he can possible see that idiot -if his daughter, for some reason, keeps him around- without shooting out his waste-of-space existence.

 

Within a few years, turned out he better stay away a little longer, which became obvious as soon as he saw his… gosh, what must be his granddaughter -his  _perfect_ , little granddaughter- held by his beautiful daughter, one leg at an odd angle to accommodate  _another fucking bump_.

 

But, this time, he couldn’t keep himself away for as long, not even a year, because it seemed he’d lost his little girl, and now he has  _grandkids_ , and maybe they’d be safer without him but what if  _something_  cameafter them because of him?

 

Maybe monthly visits, he could handle.

 

* * *

 

Well, seems like they have an official house… Rick shouldn’t have come during daylight, not if he wanted to see his grandkids and make sure they and his daughter were being treated right.

 

He gets a drink at some bar not too far away and portals back at around midnight, right outside the door. He stops to buckle Light-Weight Straps to his shoes, and practically glides in over the floor.

 

The interior seems well-kept, clean, though he spies some dirty plates by the sink. Only a child lock on the fridge and garage door. There’s one stuffed animal he steps over on his way towards the stairs.

 

One door upstairs has some sticker that looks homemade, depicting a purple butterfly fighting a green dinosaur. There’s also a sticker, a little bigger, with a child’s handwriting of  _“Summer”_  on it, surprisingly legible in it’s awkward script. Rick has a small smile as he slightly opens the door until he sees a child with lovely red locks and  _his daughter’s_  face snuggled against another stuffed animal. He takes a step inside but halts as the child mumbles and shifts. Deciding she might be a light sleeper, he stays only a moment to sweep his gaze around her room, and slowly steps out, closing the door.

 

The door across the hall has only a sign written in the same handwriting as the last, carefully spelling  _“Morty”_. Rick forces away the heaviness of rising tears at his eyes as he opens the door, still smiling. His attention is briefly taken by the numerous toys scattered across the floor, and Rick briefly approves of the lives he surmises his grandchildren having so far; They seem taken care of.

 

The crib is a boring blue-green, but Rick also approves of the space-themed mobile above it and the bits of other space-themes he sees in the center rug and some toys. They’re annoyingly inaccurate, but he enjoyed that kind of shit for a while, himself.

 

He’s already slowly approaching the crib, and is already fucking  _smitten_  with the adorable little shit-machine in blue onesie pajamas with his thumb lazily half-way in his mouth. Rick doesn’t even bother frowning at the color of his tuft of hair, because he has nice healthy, pudgy cheeks and his daughter’s eyelashes and sleeps in that same, clueless, stupid way Beth did at however old this kid must be - disregarding the probability that all babies might sleep like that.

 

He’s breathing evenly, sleeping without a sound, so Rick risks it. He slowly wraps his hands around the kid, lifts him into his arms, and holds him -his  _grandson_ , holy shit- against his blue-shirted chest.

 

“Oh, you’re w-wonderful,” Rick lightly breathes out, eyes softening further as one pudgy hand curls around Rick’s thumb that was in reach. The small pacifier clipped to the pajamas hangs innocently.

 

The eyelashes flutter, preceding his eyelids slowly blinking open.

 

Rick forces himself to not freak the fuck out as he feels his heart leap, stunned for the few seconds it would take for the kid to wail and rouse his parents, stunned long enough for curiosity to bloom over the kid’s face, and his lungs to keep the same steady pattern.

 

Rick takes a moment to calm his own breathing, then brings a smile back to his face, more intentionally kind this time, while marveling at how the kid has such  _bright_ , big eyes.

 

“Hey, little buddy,” He whispers, stroking his still-gripped thumb in a short line over Morty’s side. Just after he speaks, a quiet, seemingly surprised squeak escapes the boy. Rick huffs a laugh at it. “You’re my good little buddy, now, right? You’re d-doing a great job for Grandpa.” Rick pulls the pacifier up and holds it to the kid’s mouth, glad that he quickly starts sucking on it, his eyes drooping a bit as the sudden-waking alertness wears off.

 

Rick leans down and brushes his lips against the boy’s forehead as he leans over the crib to set him down, continuing, “I’m-I’m gonna come back, Grandpa’s gonna keep checking on you, okay, buddy? Grandpa’s gonna protect you.”

 

Thankfully, the kid settles right down. Rick smiles down at him for a few seconds longer, then creeps to the last room that’s door is shut.

 

His daughter is sleeping more deeply than he remembers, which does bring a frown to his face, but the room feels calm. He steps beside her and lightly brushes a hand over her hair, then quickly leaves, only shortly delayed by extracting a bit of that dead-asleep disgusting  _pile of_ \- extracting a bit of his blood. He better be harmless, and Rick only tries to keep his hopes up until he’s sure because his head hurts when he thinks of his sweet little girl with someone unworthy.

 

Or, if he turns out to be the victim, someone weak and on the receiving end of his daughter’s disturbing tendencies, then he shouldn’t have been such an idiot.

 

* * *

 

He enjoys his next visits, though is less interactive those times, but still carefully watches, and once brings Birdperson along to have a photo of himself and Morty. He’s able to visit for almost a decade… he thinks, before he pulls back from their lives, divulging a little further into dangerous dimensions, smuggling, striking up some deals with an assassin and providing him with weapons, etc. With all of that, it seems safer to be less affiliated with a certain world, at least a certain part of the planet.

 

Then, down the line, a series of events goes shittily, Rick drinks until he’s so inebriated he’s left in a pit of emotion and can only feel disorientation and loneliness, then drinks a “tad” more, and decides his time of drinking has been long enough to blur whatever trail he might’ve left -’cause no assholes have found and shot at him yet-, and his drunken self thinks he can maybe go see his daughter… daughter… right, his daughter has a daughter, he’s got a fuckin’ grandkid. They’d be nice to meet, right? He thinks he remembers her smile, though from yards away. Yeah, his legs are already standing him up, and he stumbles through a portal.

 

The hand he knocks with is holding a bottle that he finishes as the door opens.

 

“Oh my God, are-... Dad?”

 

“Mh. Hey, Honey. Mind if- You mind if I- Can I crash here?”

 

Her response is unclear, but seems affirmative, and he walks through towards the living room, his daughter closely following. He’s not sure if she’s saying anything, but he can’t make it out, anyway, and he thinks there might be a few other voices, but the couch is clear and he flops down on it, letting the bottle slip the barely-there drop from his hanging arm.

 

He grumbles out a, “You’re-you’re looking great, Sweetie. I- missed you,” with his eyes already closed.


	2. I Don't Want It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick gets it (an un-fun kind of 'it').

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in any undecided dimension, which is reassuring to me.
> 
> I'm grateful to those of you who left comments and any who do. I was/am nervous to 'publish' this idea because of the hate I read about. I'm sorry, I possibly don't have a consistent writing style. I'm very glad you like how it's gone so far.
> 
> I'm sorry I often lose ideas or energy with writing, especially idea for fanfics I begin. If anyone has ideas, feel free to suggest them, and give any advice, ask any questions. Thank you.

Rick wakes up to pain in the back of his neck and a hand patting his shoulder - not unusual in his past few months. However, the hand is usually grabbing and shaking him, and the pain is usually in more places than his neck. Huh.

 

Once he opens his eyes, he groans and hurriedly shuts them again. The room is shockingly bright.

 

Then something’s making little mumbling noises to his left and he forces his eyes gradually open, draping an arm across his brow to block some light. He recognizes the kid who enters his vision after a few moments of still making ‘uh’ noises and absentmindedly rubbing his arms, actually seeming to not be focused on Rick at the moment.

 

_ Right, my daughter’s… _

 

He grunts to interrupt the boy and prompt for whatever he’s woken him up for.

 

“Oh!” The boy’s eyes flash back to him and he almost jolts back to attention. In seconds, his eyes become soft… caring, and his lips turned into a kind smile. “Uh, w-would you- do, do you want some water, or something?”

 

For a moment, Rick decides to only stare at the young boy through squinting eyes as the question registers. Instead, he finds himself jolting at his side’s sudden tightening. Odd: he barely gets cramps.

 

He initially thought to reject the offer, but he might as well accept now that his body is turning against him again.

 

“Sure, eh, d-do whatever.” He waves a hand and turns on his side to face the back of the couch, the cramp still there and causing his clenched jaw. But… it seems to be… moving, focusing in from the expected broad pain to just the middle of his side, then slithering a little further towards his back.

 

Rick turns his head and finally pulls his shirt up, glad to see that his grandson already left and hasn’t been staring. He did that when he was younger, either holding something he would become intensely focused on or, more often, staring into the distance, suddenly having stopped whatever outdoor activity he began when Rick watched him. During those seconds -often turned to minutes- his eyes deepened in thoughts and widened with wonder, or curiosity, and his mouth opened just a bit as he gave his entire mind to the forest or toy or sky that he gazed into, and Rick was content to watch it forever.

 

Just as the pain begins to ebb, Rick sets his eyes on black, scratchy-ish writing and thinks,  _ H-hoooly fuck _ , before even reading it. So many stories resurge in his mind; some young boy in elementary talking about the mark he had since four years old; his mother telling him someone was meant for him; the image of Squanchy’s fur pulled away to show off his own mark; Diane assuring him she didn’t care; Birdperson telling him  _ they might be at our next performance _ ; never having to give a  _ shit _ about any of it with Unity…

 

Then his genius brain collides into his field of memories and he’s aware like a Megig high on megatocks with voices in his ear: _“They’ll speak to you and…”, “Once they squanched…”_ and Rick tries to decide to not read it, to leave it be because he barely looks at himself anyway and he long since decided he _doesn’t_ _want_ this so…

  
But he needs to know, with the same curiosity that’s driven him for decades. He sighs, and reads, _Do you want some water or something_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations while hungover and struggling through the realization that Morty is his "completion" are not recommended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very thankful that this is being enjoyed and grateful for comments as well as the numbers we're given. Your comments are very great to read with the initial unease in my stomach when new comments appear. I hope this chapter is also good.
> 
> I am not sure how I want to write in -if I do- Rick's burps, and none are written in this chapter partially with the idea that he barely burps when not intoxicated, and maybe less when he's hungover.

Water stops running in the kitchen, Rick pulls his shirt back down and sits up, wincing and slouching with forearms on his thighs at the pain of movement - not only the result of alcohol this time. Morty walks in with two hands around a tall glass and stands still before shifting it to one and holding it out to Rick.

 

Rick takes it swiftly and gulps down the entirety while silently watching Morty, who looks mostly at the floor. He takes the time to process certain new information and decides on an at least short-time solution that isn’t hard for him to make:  _ lie _ .

 

“S- uh, um, Mom said y-you’re our grandpa…” His stuttering is cute, and Rick should’ve planned ahead to pay less attention to anything specific about the teen because, now, he had to actively keep his expression some mix of neutral and disinterested. He could see that foreplanning not working, anyway. He might then just not have been able to get images of the kid as a baby out of his mind.

 

Rick set the glass down on the coffee table and cleared his throat as he felt his headache throbbing around his head.

 

The kid was rubbing his arm again - or, Rick realizes, more so scratching, and Rick’s eyes attach to the motion, narrowing in worry, but what must appear as disdain.

 

“And-and she s-s-said you, uh… left.” Morty looks up at him, Rick draws his eyes away from the other’s arm, satisfied that he was barely leaving marks.

 

“Mm,” Rick replies. At least the kid seems to barely know anything about him. However, this ‘conversation’ course might end up with Morty yelling at or otherwise upset with him, and Rick needs a second to determine that’s what he wants - not exactly  _ wants _ , but what probably is better in the long run.

 

“And I, um,  I-I um, wanted, I was wondering if-er… why?” His tone sounds like he isn’t even sure if that’s his question, his innocent eyes dart up and down a few times before settling on the floor again.

 

_ Be rude, be fucking rude, _ Rick enforces. He’s about to blurt out “Because I didn’t care about her or some stupid family” but, fuck, his hand is now just grabbing his bicep as if shielding himself and those eyes are so worried and he  _ very much _ would prefer them filled with curiosity like they were so many times when he visited, before  _ Rick _ showed up at their door.

 

“Adventures, Mor- Kid, I- my adventures made some bad, some real bad people want to hurt my family, and I, that was the only way to protect them.” Wooo, at least he partially held to his decision of lying.

 

_ Wow, what a great- fantastic idea _ , Rick thought as Morty’s head tilts back up, eyes wider, gazing with interest, and lips slightly parted. Rick doesn’t know how to respond to it. A brief silence and Morty blinks, biting his lip as the expression falls.

 

“W-wow, geez, well,” Morty’s hand moves to rub the back of his head, “She- I think it’d really help her to know that, she, uh, she seemed kind of… upset about… that.”

 

Rick lets himself fully feel annoyance at that; He definitely shouldn’t let the kid get too close to him yet. He’s not sure anymore how he wants to play this, which is fine considering he technically just met him, though Rick would always prefer to have a definite answer…

 

So, he hurries the words out this time, voicing out his current, barely related frustration in his tone. “Stay out of it, Kid, that’s not your business.”

 

Morty nods in place of the reply Rick noticed him almost say. His relenting disappoints part of Rick while another part is glad; It likely suggests submission to authority and Rick can use that,  _ deal _ with that. If he’s the authority, this situation can be easier.

 

“Uh, alright,” Morty adds. Then he starts scratching again, and his eyes glance over the couch and the glass on the table and Rick’s hands pressed against the edge of the couch beside his thighs. “Mom… she also, uh, s-suggested that I, maybe- we maybe spend time together, since Summer’s -my sister’s- out until tomorrow and Dad’s in his, uh, “office”, hehe.” His skinny fingers make the air quotes. “And Mom will be working really late. So, would, would you m-mind if I sat” -he makes a small gesture to the seat beside Rick- “and we… uh, I guess, watch something?”

 

Rick spares a thought hoping Morty doesn’t speak this way to every stranger, lest his social life suck, and considers the proposition for a moment, moving a hand to further slouch and rest his forehead on. He didn’t have anything else to do for now and he ought to rest the headache away before drinking again, Morty will also less likely speak to him while the T.V.’s playing, so Rick grunts to begin his answer.

 

“Tel-tell you what, Kid: If you f-fill up that glass again, we’ll-we’ll watch whatever you want for the rest of the day.”

 

Rick only slightly sees the quick rise of spirit in the teenager. “O-oh, got it.” He grabs the glass -with two hands again- and hurries off with, “I’ll be right back.”

 

He does come back very soon, and Rick reclines on the sofa with one leg stretched out to the floor and one bent up, foot on the cushion, for his body to take up half of the sofa, sipping the water, while the kid bounces up on the other side of his leg after grabbing the remote. Rick can barely hear his groan over the T.V.’s sudden painfully loud volume, but Morty must have heard - or might know what a hangover is, because he was immediately turning it down to what could be a whisper. He stops actively listening, but he thinks a documentary is on, or a cartoon… no idea, at this point. He closes his eyes and the side of his head leans into the soft back cushion.

 

Minutes later, he doesn’t open his eyes when the close voice speaks. “My, my name’s Morty, by the way.”

 

_ I know _ . Rick acknowledges with a low hum.

 

Minutes more pass, maybe twenty, and the nervous tension across the couch is a constant. Rick’s fine with ignoring it, thinks he should probably encourage, a bit, the kid speaking for himself. He has to rouse himself from near sleep when Morty asks, “Hey, um, d-do you think, i-if you still do them, could I maybe g-go on an adventure with you, Grandpa Rick?”

 

Huh, Rick immediately does, but shouldn’t, indulge in ideas of an adventure with Morty, thinks of Morty’s curious eyes and how often he could cause that bright look, thinks of him meeting his closest friend -as more than a baby now-... thinks of what he heard at the Citadel; That Morty could be really useful, hiding him from others.  _ No _ , Rick thinks. That wouldn’t be the reason, but Rick could use that to keep distance between himself and Morty, and he would still be appreciating that benefit.

 

But space is dangerous, the universe, as Rick closely knows, is entirely more hazardous than Earth, and Rick should define and -likely- bury his feelings about this situation before carrying on towards any relationship with Morty.

 

“Maybe,” He grumbles. “Need to get sorted first, get-get shit together.” He raises the glass to his lips and relaxes further, hoping that’s the end of the discussion.

 

“A-alright, thanks, Grandpa Rick.” Rick’s glad that his voice is no sadder, though slightly lighter.


End file.
